


Scent Experiment

by Merwin_Me



Series: Teen Wolf One-Shots [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, But he returns it, Comfort, M/M, Oblivious Peter, Possessive Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Theft, courting, no hurt, or getting there, scent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merwin_Me/pseuds/Merwin_Me
Summary: It was an ingenious plan, based on a simple hypothesis that Peter preferred items of clothing bearing the scent of a pack member.--Prompt fill:"That's my shirt. So is that....wait."With a bonus of:"Are those mypants?"





	Scent Experiment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderlotion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/gifts).



He hadn’t started doing it on purpose. It wasn’t his fault that the Wendigo’s blood splattered all over his already ripped T-shirt, leaving him half-naked in the woods. At night. In the winter. Surrounded by pack who somehow forgot the human didn’t have an inbuilt heating system.

 

Stiles had been too grateful to ask why when Peter had huffed loudly and pulled off his own - miraculously blood-free - T-shirt and gave it to Stiles.

 

It was big on him, mostly in the shoulders, but the material was thicker than he had thought it would be. The shirt also came straight from hugging a werewolf whose core temperature was a few degrees above what was normal for a human.

 

In short, Stiles ended up wearing a slice of heaven.

 

He might have also gone to sleep in that slice of heaven until the last of Peter’s natural body heat had been soaked up and the woodsy scent that had accompanied the shirt had disappeared.

 

Stiles didn’t even realize at first that when he gave the shirt back to Peter, he hadn’t washed it, only quickly thrown it in the tumble dryer.

 

Peter hadn’t seemed to notice it either, barely looking up from his research as he accepted his shirt back and put in in his bag.

 

That would have been the end of it, were it not for the fact that Peter showed up at the pack meeting that evening, wearing the same shirt. And not even to make a statement.

 

Stiles had thrown him a questioning frown, but Peter had just told him to either ask his question or let it drop, cause he was not a mindreader. Stiles had tried to casually ask about the shirt, but when he mentioned it, he’d only gotten an exasperated look thrown his way.

 

“I think I’m allowed to wear a shirt without being evil.”

 

So no.

 

Peter hadn’t realized that he had put on the shirt that still hadn’t been washed and thus must still be reeking with Stiles’ scent.

 

Of course, one occasion could just be a coincidence. Peter’s mind could just have been focused on something else that particular evening. One result does not a conclusion make.

 

It had been a slow couple of months, that was Stiles’ excuse and he was sticking by it. The Wendigo had been the first baddy they had to fight in two months, and until they started suddenly coming across more beasties, Stiles was going to see it as an outlier and not count it.

 

It gave Stiles the excuse of too much free time on his hands, and an insatiable curiosity.

 

That probably wouldn’t fly in court if he tried to use it as a defense of why he ended up making a copy of Peter’s house key, covering himself from head to toe in scent-blocker charms he liberated from Deaton’s office, and making away with a T-shirt or two.

 

Peter didn’t seem to notice that anything had happened. At least, he didn’t creepily interrogate the pack or attempt to murder Stiles, so Stiles was fairly sure Peter didn’t notice.

 

Either that or Peter was waiting for him to get complacent before pouncing, but until then, Stiles would commence the Scent Plan.

 

It was an ingenious plan, based on a simple hypothesis that Peter preferred items of clothing bearing the scent of a pack member.

 

The first phase of the plan went terribly. Stiles had somehow - don’t ask him how, he’ll deny everything - stashed a shirt in Isaac’s pillow without the boy noticing, and hid another in Derek’s wardrobe for a couple of days.

 

After the allotted days were up - or Stiles got tired of waiting - he broke back into Peter’s home and put the shirts on top of the pile in the wolf’s wardrobe and waited.

 

After another five days, Stiles scrapped his hypothesis with a frown when Peter still hadn’t shown up wearing one of the shirts. Or, at least Peter wasn’t amenable to either Isaac’s scent or Derek’s scent.

 

Phase two of the plan went a bit smoother. This time, when he stole another two shirts, Stiles wore one himself to bed for a couple of days while stashing the other in Scott’s gym bag.

 

The day after Stiles returned the shirts, Peter turned up wearing the one he had been wearing, while scowling a bit more at Scott than he usually did.

 

A thought began to form in the back of his mind, but a voice that sounded remarkably like a pissy Lydia reminded him that one positive result does not make a conclusion.

 

So Stiles redid the experiment, wearing one shirt himself and soaking another in a different packmate’s scent, before putting both back in Peter’s wardrobe.

 

And without fail, Peter would turn up the next day wearing the shirt that was covered in Stiles’ scent.

 

Something possessive curled in Stiles’ chest.

 

He had no one but himself to blame when he continued to steal, wear, and return Peter’s clothing. Nothing but the sudden need to see Peter wear something that was drenched in his scent, and being unaware of it.

 

He no longer hid a piece of clothing with a packmate, hoarding them all for himself.

 

Stiles wasn’t even entirely sure why he was doing this exactly, except that Peter looked more relaxed whenever he was wearing one of the shirts soaked in his scent.

 

Before the scent experiment had started, Peter seemed to walk around with tension lining his shoulders all day long, eyes sharp and tongue even sharper. Now he was a bit more relaxed. Not mellowed, not really, but no longer taut and capable of snapping at the slightest push.

 

So Stiles could say that the reason he was still stealing Peter’s shirts, was because he liked seeing Peter relaxed.

 

However, ever since the Nogitsune, Stiles had promised not to lie to himself. He needed to know himself, know every corner of his mind, and though he could easily lie to others - a bit too easy to be honest - he wouldn’t lie to himself.

 

Not only was it unhealthy, but it left him vulnerable.

 

Yes, one part of him was glad that Peter was no longer as tense as before, and he was glad he had found a painless and easy solution.

 

The other part of him, a bigger part, was ecstatic at seeing Peter choose items of clothing that were drenched in his scent. Peter was unconsciously choosing to surround himself in Stiles every single day.

 

One drawback? Stiles would get more than a little mad if anyone else so much as brushed against Peter, possibly disturbing his scent.

 

His amended hypothesis had been proven correct in the end, but the unexpected result of the tests had been that he had found himself rather possessive of Peter.

 

Possessive of Peter’s wardrobe as well.

 

He didn’t have a clothing kink, honest. But he might have a scent kink, even though he could not scent someone as a werewolf could. But the thought, just the thought, of other werewolves scenting him on Peter and instinctively knowing that the wolf was already claimed - Stiles wasn’t afraid to admit that he’d jerked off to the thought of that more than once.

 

It was inevitable that Peter would find out, obviously.

 

Stiles had even made a bet with himself. Either it would take Peter months more, or it would take him but a couple of weeks after Stiles started putting only his own scent on the wolf’s clothing.

 

He’d honestly thought Peter would catch up one day, realizing just who his clothing scented like.

 

No way had he imagined that Peter would practically trip over his windowsill, as his purred “hello darli-” came to a sudden stop mid-sentence to stare at Stiles.

 

“What?” Stiles asked after he’d stopped flailing at the wolf’s sudden entrance, only barely keeping his chair from tipping over. “Do I have something on my face?”

 

“That’s my shirt.”

 

Oh. Right.

 

“So is that...wait. Are those my _pants_?”

 

Even though Stiles knew he was decked out in one of Peter’s exquisitely soft v-neck shirts and a pair of low-slung jogging pants, he still cast a look down his own body. Yep, still there. Still clearly recognizable as Peter’s.

 

After a moment of just looking down at himself, Stiles looked back up, staring Peter straight in the eyes.

 

And, instead of answering the many silent questions swimming in the wolf’s confused eyes, Stiles plunked one leg on top of his desk.

 

“And your socks.”

 

Stiles wiggled his toes, even as a confused frown pulled down Peter’s eyebrows.

 

“Dude, what are you wearing?” Stiles decided to hint a little when Peter still seemed to be lost for words half a minute later.

 

It caused Peter to look down automatically, plucking at his shirt a little in confusion, before raising a brow.

 

“It’s a shirt. Like the one you’re wearing. Which is also mine.”

 

“...Okay, fair. Now scent it.”

 

But it was clear by the look on Peter’s face that he didn’t need to scent it to know what Stiles was getting at, because his eyes widened the teeniest bit, staring at Stiles with a suspicious fascination.

 

Peter didn’t take his eyes off of Stiles even as he lifted the neck of his shirt a little, burying his nose in the soft material. And breathing in a lungful of whatever Eau d’ Stiles smelled like.

 

“What.” Peter was back to staring, letting go of the material after having confirmed that the shirt he was wearing also bore Stiles’ scent. “Have you been stealing my clothes? Why?”

 

“Well,” Stiles’ motion to the free chair was ignored, as Peter seemed to be perfectly fine where he was, “remember the Wendigo? When my shirt got destroyed and you let me borrow one of yours?”

 

“Did you take it as an open invitation?” Peter’s voice was dry, but there was also no amusement present.

 

Okay, so that was a no to a long explanation. Peter’s wasn’t looking very happy with him right now, and that was like the complete opposite of his goal. Happy, relaxed, not tense. That’s what he was going for.

 

“Not really. But I admit I wore that shirt to sleep because it was really comfortable. And then threw it in the tumble dryer before giving it back during lunch the next day. You wore the same shirt that evening, at the pack meeting. I tried to ask you about it but you didn’t realize so…”

 

“So?” A bit of the tension had left Peter, curiosity taking the place of most of the sudden animosity.

 

That was good. Stiles preferred his throat intact.

 

“So I did a little experiment. Tiny one. I thought that maybe you felt more relaxed surrounded by pack scent but, uh, you almost strangled Isaac with his own scarf when I put back a shirt with his scent, and looked ready to just murder Scott when it was his scent day. When it was Derek’s scent day, you were giving him the suspicious side-eye constantly.”

 

Stiles shrugged a little, watching as surprise crossed Peter’s face as he cast back in his memory, slowly realizing exactly which days Stiles was talking about.

 

“Negative effect meant no repeat of the scent, because well, my goal was to make you look as relaxed as you did when you were wearing the shirt you had lent me. I-”

 

Here, Stiles cut himself off for a second, looking away with a flush. He was about to lay more of himself bare to the older man than he was entirely comfortable with, but Peter deserved to know why he did what he did, why he continued the steal his clothes and cover them with his own scent.

 

“I admit that I...felt more than a little bit - ah - possessive when I realized it was only my scent that caused you to be the most relaxed, when you seemed most comfortable.”

 

Peter’s eyes immediately fixated on Stiles, who was no longer looking him straight in the eye but rather fidgeting a little, looking around his room with a light blush dusting his cheeks.

 

“And I liked knowing it was partly because of me. So I just...well, I didn’t really want to stop. And it didn’t seem to be harmful, so…”

 

Stiles ended his short monologue with a shrug, still not looking Peter in the eye and thus missing the small, pleased grin that curled Peter’s lip at his confession.

 

The way Stiles said he felt, the possessiveness, told Peter more than enough.

 

The boy liked him. Was trying to claim him in the most basic of Supernatural ways, by covering his chosen mate in his scent, warning off any other possible suitors.

 

Peter knew why he had unconsciously accepted Stiles’ scent on his possessions. He had always thought the boy to be fascinating, the way he had bravely - if a little stupidly - faced an admittedly crazed Alpha that day in the parking garage. To the loyalty he displayed when protecting anyone in the pack - even Peter before the rest of the pack had slowly started accepting him as well.

 

Stiles was fierce in protecting those he cared about, loyal to those who earned it, an outright terror to his enemies, and filled to the brim with sarcasm and sass to boot.

 

This time, Stiles didn’t manage to keep the chair from toppling over, though he didn’t have time to hit the ground as Peter pulled him up before quickly tackling him to the bed.

 

He wasn’t proud of the high-pitched yelp that left him, only to stutter a little when Peter dropped down on top of him, letting his full weight rest on him. The man was a little heavy and Stiles could feel his ribs protest a little, but all thoughts of asking Peter to move off of him disappeared when Peter pressed his nose against Stiles’ neck, breathing in deeply.

 

A low rumble came from deep within Peter’s chest, vibrating a little through Stiles and causing him to shudder a little even as Peter moved his head a bit to rub their cheeks together. Spreading his own scent all over the left side of Stiles’ face and neck.

 

“Your claim has been accepted.” Peter purred a little, not even trying to hide the chuckle when Stiles let out a squeak, eyes opening wide in sudden realization.

 

Silly boy. He was so smart, but also so oblivious at times. Even though Stiles had read everything on werewolves that was available to him - or that was in Deaton’s possession but Stiles got his hands on anyway - he had clearly not linked the information to his own actions.

 

No matter.

 

Stiles had, unconsciously though it might have been, properly claimed him. A claim that would only stick, of course, if it was accepted.

 

Now that it was, proper courting could begin.

 

And unlike the claiming had apparently been, that one wouldn’t be so one-sided.

**Author's Note:**

> This...was....supposed to be a drabble. Shows how well I can do those!


End file.
